


in sickness

by justbecauseyoubelievesomething



Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [9]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clarke is bad at selfcare, Coughing, Delinquents & Floukru, Doctor Clarke Griffin, Established Relationship, F/M, Hospitalization, Major Illness, Oceanverse, POV Bellamy Blake, surprising no one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25824796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbecauseyoubelievesomething/pseuds/justbecauseyoubelievesomething
Summary: Dr. Clarke Griffin is very good at taking care of her patients, but not so good at taking care of herself. That's why she has Bellamy.A Bellarke one-shot for Writer's Month 2020. Prompt 9: illness.Takes place in the same universe as "Ocean", sometime after the Delinquents are taken in by Luna's village.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863823
Comments: 1
Kudos: 77
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	in sickness

Clarke’s clinic sits on the lowest level of the ancient rig, swathed in a stifling darkness. The sound of rats chittering along the walls and unseen insect legs rasping away from the lantern light makes Bellamy shudder as he presses down the corridor.

When Luna gifted the clinic space to Clarke, the meaning of the location was clear; accept your place here and we will eventually accept you. Bellamy fumed under the proposal, but Clarke took the space without a second thought.

He wonders if she regrets it now, as his boots squish over the slimy floor and the ceiling echoes with a constant drip. But as he turns out onto the open part of the floor, it’s clear that no one on the Floukru rig regrets Clarke’s clinic. The open space in front of the clinic is packed with Floukru villagers, standing in quiet but restless lines, waiting for their turn at the large double doors. Bellamy pulls his scarf up over his mouth and nose as he weaves his way through the crowd. Most of the gathered villagers have their own mouths covered, some of them out of precaution like Bellamy, most because they’re shuddering with coughs. Some of them are wheezing so hard that they’re sitting on the slime coated floor while they wait, heedless of the damp and grime seeping through their pants.

Luna said just last week that this illness wasn’t a concern. Bellamy realizes now that she’s been trying to keep morale up. He doubts the forty people waiting outside the clinic think their illness is of no concern.

Inside the clinic is chaos. Shea is closest to the door, distributing cold rags to a group of feverish Floukru seated against the wall. As Clarke’s new apprentice, Bellamy doubts the Grounder girl is dealing with the most serious cases. Farther back, in a whirlwind of activity, two figures crisscross with each other as they attend several patients at once. The back of Lincoln’s neck gleams with sweat under the swinging lanterns as his deft fingers find a pulse and he calls out vital signs to his coworker. He’s graceful, calmly stepping from one cot to another, as strong and steady among the sick as he is on a battlefield. Just the sight of him, head and shoulders above anyone else in the clinic, makes Bellamy feel a little bit better. But the true center of the room, no matter where she stands, is Clarke. She moves with a different kind of steadiness than Lincoln, a calmness that thrives not in spite of the chaos, but because of it. She’s in her element and Bellamy pauses for just a moment to watch her in awe. She seems to be in a thousand places at once; helping Lincoln shift a patient on a cot, monitoring another one’s heartbeat, coaxing a child to swallow a vial of medicine, rubbing a woman’s back reassuringly as she’s wracked by violent coughs. Clarke’s steps are sure, her voice firm over the noise of the sick, her eyes alight with determination. Bellamy loves her like this.

“Bellamy!” Lincoln beckons him over, without leaving his post and Bellamy delicately makes his way through the full cots and chairs to his friend.

“Glad you’re here,” the Grounder healer says, without looking away from the medicine he’s stirring. “I need your help.”

Bellamy grimaces. “You know the last time I volunteered we ended up losing a whole crate of bandages, right?”

“I remember.” Lincoln finally looks up to raise an eyebrow at Bellamy. “I don’t know why you thought storing them in the cooler was a good idea. The mold was pretty much inevitable.”

Bellamy groans. “I don’t need a reminder of what an idiot I am.”

“Difference of opinion,” Lincoln quips. “But really, I don’t need your help with anything like that.”

“Okay… what then?”

Lincoln throws his arm out towards Clarke. “Someone needs to get her to take a break.”

Bellamy blinks across the room at the oblivious Clarke. “How long has she been here?”

Lincoln’s brow scrunches in thought. “Yesterday afternoon? Morning?” He sighs and shakes his head. “Too long.”

“Shit, Clarke,” Bellamy breathes. She bobs up and down tirelessly, from bed to bed, patient to patient, hands never faltering.

“Yeah. She’s going to hurt herself if someone doesn’t convince her to rest.” Lincoln stares pointedly at Bellamy. 

“I’m on it. I can send Octavia down to help Shea with the mild cases if you want.”

The corners of Lincoln’s eyes soften. “That would help take some pressure off for a few hours at least.”

Bellamy clasps Lincoln’s shoulder as he passes him, grateful for the strength exuding from the man. He makes his way to the far end of the room, where Clarke is finally at a standstill as she furiously scribbles on a notepad.

“Clarke,” he says softly, not wanting to jar her from her thoughts too suddenly.

She looks up, cheeks twitching with an automatic smile. “Bellamy.”

Now that he’s closer he can see the telltale signs of her fatigue; the dark rings under her eyes, the sweat stains in the scarf around her face, the fly away hairs escaping from her thick braid.

He swallows the dozen reprimands that rise to the tip of his tongue and offers his arm instead. “Here to walk you home, my lady.”

She tilts her head, eyes sparking with subdued laughter, but her grip on pencil and paper don’t loosen. “I appreciate the offer, kind sir, but as you can see, I still have quite a bit to do.”

“Hmmm…” He gently lays a hand on her arm and waits for her to relax into his touch. “I see a doctor who’s not going to be able to help anyone if she doesn’t take a moment to breathe.”

Clarke’s brow furrows and he can imagine the way her lips are pressed tightly together under her scarf as she tries to stubborn her way through this conversation. A standoff that’s all too familiar between them.

Before she can say anything, Bellamy lays his other hand against her notepad, letting her rest the weight of it against his palm. “If the best way I can help these people is by helping their doctor, then you know I’m not going to stop until I do that. It’s not just for you, Clarke.”

He feels the moment she breaks, letting the notepad drop fully in his hand as her shoulders visibly droop. “Just… give me a second to clean off my station and check in with Lincoln.”

Bellamy squeezes her arm softly before stepping back. “I’ll be outside.”

He waits probably another twenty minutes outside the clinic before Clarke steps out. He offers her his arm again and this time she loops her arm through the crook of his elbow with a tired laugh. It’s meant as a joke, but as they walk away from the clinic towards the upper levels, Bellamy realizes that she’s leaning heavily on him. He gladly takes her weight as she murmurs to him about the patients and the progression of the illness. Her words grow increasingly softer and more incoherent and by the time they reach their room, she’s half asleep against his shoulder.

He pulls her into their room and slips off her shoes. Clarke is usually a stickler for disinfecting, but Bellamy decides it will be easier to disinfect the bed sheets than it will be to get her out of her clothes right now. He helps her climb into bed and pulls the blankets over her before turning to go.

“Wait! Bellamy?”

He pauses by the door, just about to slip back out.

“Will you…” Clarke sounds small and vulnerable, nothing like Doctor Griffin now. Just his Clarke. “Will you lay with me? Just a little while?”

A lump of overwhelming affection and sadness bursts in his chest.

“As long as you need.”

He kicks off his boots and slips under the blankets with her. She curls up against his side, head resting on his shoulder and he holds perfectly still as she falls asleep.


End file.
